


Bad Blood

by HueyNomure



Series: Blood Trail [2]
Category: Magic: The Gathering
Genre: A whole lot of killing, Demonic Pacts, Graphic Death of a baby, Human Sacrifice, Magic: Expanded Multiverse, Moral corruption, Multi, no canon characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 16:07:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12302739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HueyNomure/pseuds/HueyNomure
Summary: Kertes is eager to do whatever it takes to bring the Meskhenet family back to past glory. Like her late mother before her, Kertes makes large use of demonic pacts. Unlike her mother, Kertes' judgement can be severely impaired by her short temper, an unfortunate trait to have when dealing with nearly omniscient entities with a cruel sense of poetic justice.This won't end well.





	1. the Deal

Kertes descended the stairs to the secret room under her quarters. Everyone who knew about Kertes’ room was dead, soon to be, or slaves whose tongue had been cut. Aside from Kertes herself, of course.

The woman took the lit torch from the wall, the only source of light in the room, and brought the flame to the four braziers in the corners of the room before putting it back. The new fires shed light on the altar in the middle of the room, and the five big inscribed candles positioned around the altar’s center. Inside that pentagon, the altar had been carved to form a circular cavity which reeked of decay. On the right, a bundle of cloth moved slightly. On the left, her ritual tools gleamed at the light of the torch. The chain affixed to the ceiling creaked, and she looked up at a mass of rags and hair. The preparations were adequate. The slaves would be spared the lash.

Kertes circled the altar and opened the teak shutters of the cabinet carved on the far wall. She regarded the copper knife, then the golden goblet, the miniature silver anchor, the iron brazier, the leaden spiked chain… but none of them was powerful enough, or cunning enough, for her needs. Kertes carefully took the obsidian skull from under a black cloth, laid it in the center of the altar’s cavity, and closed the cabinet. Thutmoset was dangerous, Kertes thought, but she had little choice. She positioned herself before the altar, took a deep breath and begun the summoning.

“Flesh of the innocent, to sate thy hunger.” _Innocent. Such a stupid word; guilty of costing way too much, for starters._ She took the short and thick scissors from the left side of the altar and lifted the cloth on her right to reveal a sleeping baby. With a practiced movement, Kertes buried their lower blade right below the breastbone; the baby squirmed, but the drug kept him unconscious. The woman cut his left ribs from the breastbone, grabbed both sides of the wound and cracked the ribcage open with a firm tug; the blood soaked her sleeves, but Kertes barely noticed as she picked up the knife and made the wound larger to make room for her hand. When she cut his heart free it was still beating, albeit weakly. Kertes lifted the skull and put the heart in its fused jaws.

“Blood of the supplicant, to show the path.” Kertes rolled up her left sleeve revealing a forearm white as snow, except for the dozens of scars that crisscrossed its skin. She located a small unscarred area near to her wrist and opened a shallow wound, allowing a few drops of her precious blood to hit the skull before wrapping her wrist in clean bandages. Kertes would never get used to that small, annoying pain.

“Eyes of the sinner, to light the way.” _The next wretched idiot will think twice before touching my harem._ She picked up the sharp spoon and grabbed the hair of the hanged man, steadying his head before gouging his eyes with two sharp movements. She lodged the eyes in the toothed sockets of the obsidian skull.

“I summon thee, O Thutmoset, through the flesh and the eyes of the unworthy. I summon thee, O Thutmoset, with the blood and the will of the strong. I summon thee, O Thutmoset, for the honor and renewal of the ancient pact.” As Kertes spoke the last words of the incantation, she took a careful step behind.

The sockets of the obsidian skull closed around the eyes, and the room echoed with a sound of gnawing jaws. When the sockets opened again, they started spewing black blood until the altar’s cavity was full, the skull completely hidden under the fetid liquid. Then two hands emerged from the pool of blood, grabbing the edge of the cavity. The upper body of the demon sprang up, spraying the place where Kertes had been standing a minute before with putrid blood.

Thutmoset resembled a putrefying corpse held together with the same thick black yarn that sewed his smiling lips shut. This time his face was masculine and quite handsome - if the tales were to be believed, the demon took the appearance the sacrificed babies would have had in their adulthood. His eyelids opened, revealing two small mouths full of human teeth.

“It has been a long time since our last deal, my child,” said the right mouth, while the left licked its bloodied teeth. Not as long as Kertes hoped; the woman found everything Thutmoset said and did annoying, unnerving or both. “I kept my mouths on you,” continued the left one, the right lips snapping in satisfaction.

“I need Qagab removed from the board before he can steal Heri-Baset’s inheritance,” said Kertes. Heri-Baset's house was the only one that still dared to ship Qagab's wares.

“Heri-Baset… you married his firstborn, but you didn’t expect the Qagab boy would bed the old man himself. He is a clever one, my naïve child, and he carries the mark of a harpy on his forehead,” mused the demon, his mouths speaking slightly out of synchronization. “You seem surprised, but I did say you had my attention. Qagab is far from defenseless, and you know that.”

“But you will do it,” said Kertes with a hollow tone as her heart sunk. Was Qagab out of the demon’s reach? Had she finally found the bounds of Thutmoset’s power?

“Of course I will, my imperious child. I merely want you to think about your request before I name its price,” came the condescending reply. The demon seemed to savor the moment before speaking again. “I want you to offer me your firstborn child.” Kertes froze.

“I will not sacrifice my heir to you, demon,” hissed Kertes. Thutmoset’s smile faded. The room suddenly seemed darker.

“You summoned me to appease your thirst for power, Kertes daughter of Uab-Tot, not the other way around, and you will show. Me. Respect.” The booming voice of the demon shook the walls and made the candles flicker.

“I humbly apologize for my insolence, Thutmoset. Nevertheless, I refuse to sacrifice my first child, my heir, blood of my blood, for any reason.” Kertes hoped the demon didn’t hear the fear in her voice. Either way, Thutmoset seemed satisfied.

“I did not talk about sacrifice. The baby will be marked in my name, and mine to raise as I see fit. And about the ‘heir’ part… the child in your womb will be born at dusk. Most unfortunate, you will agree,” said the demon, his sewn lips curled into a sardonic smile.

Kertes touched her belly. “The child in my womb?”

“Your first night with Dhouti son of Heri-Baset was fruitful in many ways,” Thutmosed remarked.

Kertes pondered the demon's words. “Is there no other way? I’d rather avoid the nuisance of carrying a crepuscular waste of life,” asked the woman. Crepusculars weren't fit to be anything more than slaves, and she wanted to have a true heir as soon as she could; Kertes needed to raise her child in her prime, and have a reliable support before the other nobles started to be really afraid of her. Such a deal would also go against her mother's warnings; still, Kertes couldn't forget the last words on her letter. Whatever it takes, Layla had written. Twice, to make sure her daughter kept that in mind. Qagab deserved a living hell, and Kertes wouldn't rest until satisfied.

The demon chuckled. “I imagined you would say that, my demanding child, and in fact I have some kind of alternative. I live to serve, as they say,” added Thutmoset when Kertes eyed him suspiciously. “But it will cost you Astekhu’s life.”

Kertes caught herself before she could insult the demon again. “So now you’re asking for my firstborn _and_ my sister in exchange for my request?”

“That is inaccurate. You asked for Qagab to be dealt with, and the price will be your first child. Then you asked not to carry your own child, and now I am offering you a way for your sister to take your place in exchange for her life. Different deals, different prices.”

“Still, that’s my sister you’re talking about.” Astekhu had took care of her for years, before Kertes was old enough to become the head of their house. But she was so close to cut Qagab off the river commerce... She couldn't let him recover, and allowing him to legitimately acquire the last free port could put him irreparably out of her reach. Kertes had to shut him down. She had promised.

“Yes, your unaligned sister that lives in your house, eats your food and does little to repay you,” added the demon.

Kertes bit her lower lip; she had meant to marry Astekhu to some rich and untitled fool, but her older sister’s beauty - while still remarkable - was starting to get tarnished by time. Kertes had spent the last decade working herself to the bone; Astekhu had spent the last decade looking pretty, and now she was failing even at that... but her older sister had almost been a second mother, waking her gently each morning before Kertes' marriage, grooming her and coddling her. Whatever it takes, Kertes had said when she had promised to bring their name back to glory. She needed Qagab out of the way, and a true heir to raise as soon as possible. Whatever it takes. Kertes tasted blood. Would her mother approve of her decisiveness, or berate her for sacrificing kin?

“I didn’t think you had this kind of power,” said Kertes, stalling for time.

Thutmoset shrugged, the yarn in his shoulders stretching with a wet noise, and produced a scroll from the thin air in his left hand. “Actually, I do not; in this scroll is described the ritual you will have to perform. Do not worry, my avaricious child, it does not require expensive components and neither will it need more than a couple of hours to be completed,” said the demon, stretching his left arm toward Kertes.

As the limb crossed the circle of inscribed candles, it started sizzling and emitting a purple smoke, but Thutmoset didn’t seem to notice. Kertes swore under her breath; she had tried every ward and sealing circle she could think of, but the demon simply ignored them. She gingerly took the scroll, trying to conceal the shaking of her hands, but the demon didn’t loosen his grip.

“You will perform the ritual, your sister will carry your unborn son and die in the process. You will give the child to the people I will send to you, and Qagab won’t be able to claim Heri-Baset’s inheritance. Is the pact sealed?” The demon’s face now was serious, and the mouths spoke in a perfect chorus. Kertes took a deep breath and finally nodded, her heart heavy and cold in her chest.

“The pact is sealed.”


	2. A Life for a Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An alliance is formed. A mother dies. A son is born. A midwife is threatened. A demon claims his due. A child is delivered.

Kertes closed the last ledger and passed it to her steward Nezemab. As the black aven noiselessly put the volume back in its place, she picked up the missive for the second time and regarded its tidy handwriting thoughtfully; it carried the name of Set-Auan, a young aven captain she had met after the last fruitless audience with the Eastern King-General. Set-Auan had risked career suicide speaking unconsulted to Kertes under the unforgiving eyes of Lord Commander Chons Kateles, the King-General’s own unaligned son; luckily for the captain, Kertes had appreciated the aven’s boldness and her respectful, witty and just slightly flirtatious attitude. Kertes closed her eyes recalling her appearance: Set-Auan’s white and spotless feathers covered a large frame, her long slim beak almost awkward compared to her thick limbs, and her eyes had the color of the purest silver; Nezemab had confirmed later that the captain’s other features were widely regarded as appealing by aven. Attractiveness aside, Set-Auan's body was more flawlessly aligned to the Moon Goddess than any living member of the royal Thamades family, and the captain seemed to be well aware of the fact.

Kertes opened her eyes at the rustle of lazy footsteps behind her. There was only one person bold and careless enough to make that kind of noise when she was working; she ignored him and returned to the letter. If Kertes had interpreted the captain’s hints in the right way, Set-Auan was proposing to employ the help of demons in an army-wide scale; a very intriguing notion, the same that Kertes herself had unsuccessfully suggested to both King-Generals. To be honest, she hadn’t been surprised by their rejection: members of the royal families acted under the supervision of more allegedly righteous patrons, and since high officials were nominated by the King-Generals all the Commanders - the only other rank who could authorize such initiatives - in recent history had royal blood in their veins and followed their superior’s will to the letter. But even King-Generals could be pressured… The Moon Empress was very old, and the Sun Emperor a clueless stargazer of an ainok who spent his days ingratiating the people and “looking after the poor and the sick”. Inane pastimes, if Kertes was any judge, that left the true control of the Sacred Empire to the empress: every aligned Thamades and Kateles woman with a grain of salt was paying, threatening or bedding the bishops of the Twin Gods for their votes. A lucky time to be a bishop like her cousin Renenet, to be sure. The same dear cousin who had a desperate crush for her husband Dhouti in his youth, and a more than passing interest for the herb she had recently begun to smuggle...

“Sweet Kertes? Will you follow me to our bedchamber, my love?” Dhouti himself asked with a sultry whisper to her ear; he made to take Set-Auan’s letter from her hands, but renounced as Kertes cleared her throat. Good, Kertes thought, he doesn’t need to be reminded of what happens when someone interrupts my work. Dhouti had been happy enough to gift all his current and future property to Kertes as dowry, and sometimes had the gall to wonder why work kept them apart; while Kertes spent nearly every waking hour worrying about the ever-changing worlds of commerce and politics, Douthi was free to make good use of her library, her harem and her money.

Set-Auan seemed bold and ambitious enough to make use of any opportunity Kertes could give her, but could the brave captain be trusted? Kertes needed to know more, possibly something damning enough to be used as blackmail material if Set-Auan suddenly forgot the responsible of her quick ascent. Her current rank and alignment suggested low birth, but the aven was very comfortable with her letters; daughter of a scribe, or maybe even a low functionary. “Nezemab, I need to know more about Set-Auan Chisisi, an aligned captain of the eastern army. Family, past, reprehensible companies, everything you can find,” Kertes demanded.

“At once, my lady” her steward replied, dutiful as ever, then he swiftly left the room to speak to her servants outside. Kertes startled when the less dutiful Dhouti squeezed her shoulders.

“You know you mustn’t disturb my work, Dhouti.”

“Disturbing you? Nothing could be farther from my mind, love,” Dhouti lied, starting to massage her broad shoulders, “I just want you to relax. Can’t you feel how tense you are, Kertes, delicious honey of my life?”

Kertes did feel tense, she couldn’t deny that much as her husband’s small deft hands kneaded her muscles. It had been too much time since their last night together, and Dhouti’s touch was always so _warm_ … she heard herself moan right before Nezemab knocked on the door, asking her leave to enter. Kertes shook her head and straightened her back; Dhouti stepped back, chuckling softly.

“Ranno Kanika has arrived, my lady,” her steward announced.

“Do you recall sending for her, Nezemab?”

“The name sounds new to me, my lady, but she said she came from Latmes just to serve you.”

“From the sacred city, no less…” If Nezemab didn’t remember who Ranno was, her involvement wasn’t legal. Was Ranno his envoy? “Bring her here, with two guards.” The aven nodded and disappeared again.

“What about me, moon of my sky?” Dhouti asked, feigning shock. “Do you want to abandon me and my brothers in our warm and inviting bed?”

Kertes’ neck spun so fast it hurt; Dhouti grinned naughtily at Kertes’ surprise and kissed her. She stared at him speechless, her mouth half open: Dhouti’s younger brothers were the first highborn twins in the last century, she remembered attending their Namegiving as a child, the bishop describing them as “a sign of luck and prosperity”. They had entered adulthood less than a year ago, their unaligned pale skin pardoned in her eyes because of their gorgeous slender body and delicate lineaments; Dhouti was a remarkable beauty himself, with his ebony skin, taut muscles and striking red eyes, but those twins… besides, maybe some of their luck would rub off on her: Kertes and Dhouti’s marriage had shown no promise of child after seven months. Not after _that_ night, Kertes thought darkly.

Kertes still had nightmares of the last time she summoned Thutmoset, and had spent many a day reliving that night, neglecting her work to think about the anger and recklessness that had clouded her mind. What she should have said. The questions she should have asked, and the answers she should have demanded. Now she had to stumble blindly, hoping against hope that Thutmoset could have mercy for her, that he wouldn’t dare to steal the legacy he was asked to protect. She spent all her waking hours wearing the mask of the fearsome Kertes Meskhenet, but her heart filled with regrets whenever the memory came back to her mind. Kertes had started to see Astekhu's face in every woman she sacrificed to the demons, and saw death whenever she met her sister's gaze.

Dhouti noticed the sorrow in her eyes and caressed her platinum hair, smiling reassuringly. “Please don’t be sad, my sweet love, don’t worry about a thing. Do what you have to do, just don’t make us wait too long, my diamond,” he sighed, and his smile saddened a bit. “I’ll always be there for you, Kertes, but I won’t wait awake all night again.”

Kertes nodded and watched him go; there were times when she was sure she didn’t deserve him. She slapped herself to regain focus: just this one audience, then straight to her husband. Kertes thought of Qagab and the self-righteous King-Generals, and anger gave her strength; she wore the mask of the fearless and cunning head of the Meskhenet family again, and prepared to meet her guest.

Ranno was a short and portly middle-aged ainok, her black fur fading to brown around her hazel eyes and under her jackal’s snout. Healthy alignment, thought Kertes, but to the Sun God - the wrong Twin. Judging by her proud look in her eyes, she was one of those insolents who believed hard work could remedy an accident of birth. She carried a large bag made of the same grey fabric of her simple tunic.

“I hope the travel hasn’t been too inconvenient, Ranno,” Kertes blurted less gently than courtesy required.

“Long but uneventful, my lady, thank you for your concern.”

“Glad to hear that,” Kertes lied. “Now, Ranno, I’m sure I was sent the best, because I would expect no less. Do you understand what I’m saying?” Kertes had no idea why this Ranno believed to be welcome in her home, but she had learned that lesser people under pressure tended to justify themselves way beyond what they meant to.

“There’s nothing to worry about, my lady,” replied the ainok, visibly worried. If she was so easily cowered by Kertes’ words Ranno couldn’t be aware of Thutmoset’s involvement; odds were the demon had sent the woman a message and money on Kertes’ behalf. “My mother was a midwife too, and my grandmother before her as her own mother, and so on and so forth; you could say our family has brought to the world half of Latmes, and was the wet nurse of the other half. In addition to the art and the wisdom handed down from mother to daughter I learned a few lucky charms and healing spells that are never unwelcome during childbirth.”

“You can’t possibly be the future wet nurse of my _nephew_ \- Kertes’ grimaced at the word – unless you have a spell for that.”

“But I can, my lady; my grandmother said her mother once saved an archmage’s child in a very difficult birth, and when the baby was safe and sleeping in my great-grandmother’s arms the archmage blessed our family so no child would lack good milk from our breast,” Ranno explained nervously; Kertes had little reason to doubt her, the mages powerful enough to earn a title through their spells tended to be prodigal with blessings and curses alike.

“I believe you’re the right person for my nephew, Ranno,” Kertes said with a thin smile, “now let’s talk about your payment; I’ll give you rooms and food from this very house until you’ll be needed, and you’ll see no gold of mine until my nephew is born. Do you agree?”

“Yes, my lady; do you confirm the promise of-“

Kertes had raised a hand to interrupt her. “I know how much gold I promised you,” she lied, “and once my sister and my nephew are both alive and well I’ll give you two times that sum.” Ranno’s eyes widened in disbelief; Kertes stood up and leaned on her desk with both hands. “But if something goes wrong we’ll have another chat, and then we’ll talk about what you are owned. Are we clear?” Ranno’s eyes were full of both greed and fear; the ainok nodded wordlessly. “Good, now about your rooms-“ Kertes was interrupted by a frantic beating; she glanced at Nezemab, who nodded and slightly opened the door to address the hurried messenger.

“It’s Astekhu, sir! She’s- she’s-“ The wheezing voice belonged to Hespu, one of the crepuscular slaves that cared after her older sister. Now Kertes was sure Ranno had been sent by Thutmoset: the demon found this kind of timing amusing. She didn’t need to watch out of the window to know the sun was about to set.

“It seems that you’ll be needed sooner rather than later,” Kertes said wearily. “Ranno, follow Hespu. Hespu, lead Ranno here to Astekhu, and tell everyone there they’re to obey her as they would obey doctor Nafi. Go.” Slave and midwife left hastily, Ranno muttering empty reassurances. The dog wouldn’t be so sure if she knew what she’ll be fighting against, Kertes thought. As an afterthought, she made the two guards follow Ranno; it was highly unlikely, but Ranno could be an agent of another noble house.

Kertes massaged her temples for a good minute in the following silence. _Was there anything I could do? Demons won't get in the way of each other's deals, and I was so stupid that I completed the ritual that very night. It has been half a century since the death of the last mage able to bring people back to true life, and even demons are afraid to slight Thutmoset bringing back someone who hasn't even been directly sacrificed to him._ Kertes shook her head. _He made sure I paid the full price, that devious bastard._

Nezemab was waiting near the door. “Afterwards, the midwife will be brought on this very chair with the baby,” Kertes eventually ordered pointing at the chair where Ranno had sat, “and if anything goes wrong there’ll be a guard with an unsheathed sword with her until I come back. She’ll be brought food, drink, herbs, whatever she asks for herself or the baby, but she won’t do as much as raise her backside from the chair. You are free until tomorrow morning after you give the orders, Nezemab.”

“Yes, my lady. Thank you, my lady,” the aven bobbed his ibis’ head courteously, and left her alone in the room. Always the same old, stuffy, trustworthy bird.

Kertes’ sighed deeply, then went to her waiting husband.

 

* * *

 

There certainly was some truth in the rumors about Dhouti and his brothers, Kertes thought as she finished her breakfast of dates and quail eggs. She could see them stir in their sleep from her seat in the small garden’s table, their smooth skin beautiful in the morning light. Sleeping during the night was not that resting for someone as moon-aligned as Kertes, but her husband’s diurnal sleeping habits were far from flexible. Not that Kertes was going to complain: Dhouti had proved to be much more than the rich attractive oaf she thought she had taken as a husband. The night had been satisfactory: the twins hadn’t left her much time to think about-

Her throat tightened as she tried to swallow an egg; Kertes almost choked on her breakfast. The servants made to help her as she coughed egg all over the table, but she stopped them with a glare and spat on the plate. "Overcooked," she croaked, and gestured for her plate to be removed. They obeyed, their fear plain on their faces. _They don't know that I am the one deserving the lash._ She beckoned at Canopus and his water basin. After Kertes had washed her face the servants handed her a cerulean linen robe and a silver-lined taupe shawl, colors that flattered her pale skin and blue eyes, then the garnet and black hematite bracelet that had Dhouti’s wedding vows carved on the inside.

Then Kertes sat again and closed her eyes, letting Canopus tidy her unruly hair into a loose ponytail with the help of scented oil while Zahra took care of make-up. Kertes breathed deeply and tried not to think about her sister grooming her, with little success. After this morning, at least her end of the deal would have been fulfilled, she thought bitterly. But what did he want her to do with the damned baby, exactly? Ranno had clearly received no order from the demon. She hated Thutmoset almost as much as she hated herself.

When Canopus and Zahra had finished she looked into the basin, showing her reflection her best expression of contempt. She dismissed her servants with a wave of her hand and left the garden with a last longing glance to her sleeping husband and brothers-in-law.

The misery in Ranno’s bloodshot eyes told her everything she needed to know about the consequences of the ritual Kertes had inflicted on her own sister. The ainok seemed ten years older than the day before as she cradled a bundle of cloth in her arms; she clearly hadn’t dared sleep under the unspoken threat. Kertes traced her steps to her chair with deliberate care and sat down gracefully, regarding the midwife coldly.

“Judging by your expression, something went wrong,” Kertes said drumming on the desk with her nails. Ranno lowered her gaze on the baby she was holding. “Ranno, I’m talking to you.” Kertes added, venom dripping from each word. The baby started crying.

“I-I’m so sorry, my lady, it’s…”

“Surely my nephew sounds healthy enough,” Kertes pressed, feigning ignorance. “Something about my sister, then.”

“I did everything I could, my lady, but… but…”

“My doctor Nafi told me Astekhu has good birthing hips and a robust health. Was he correct?” Kertes waited for Ranno to nod, which she did frantically, then slammed her fist on the desk. “So what went wrong, I ask?”

The ainok muttered something incomprehensible, tears in her eyes. _I might need a hour before I get the whole story. Let's get this over with._ She turned toward Nezemab; the aven held her gaze for a moment before answering.

“Astekhu is dead, my lady. I’m sorry.” The aven’s tone was soft but calm as ever.

Kertes felt her heart freeze. She wasn’t as stupid as to believe a demon would lie in a deal, but hearing it from Nezemab’s voice was still hard. She remembered the only two conversations she had with Astekhu since she had performed the ritual; the lies she had told to convince her older sister to keep the baby, and later the one to move Astekhu's quarters closer to the servitude that would have taken care of her, but more importantly farther from Kertes. All those words looking into eyes that seemed already dead. _More nightmare fodder, just what I needed._ Kertes had dreamed Astekhu politely asking why she had to die, her body kept together by blood-soaked black string. _Whatever it takes, Mother, yes, but Twins be damned!_ She had doomed her own sister. To make things worse, she hadn't found the gall to be with her when it mattered. Her chest filled with guilt and frustration.

“Is there anything else I should know?” Kertes asked, her tone dead as her heart.

“The baby is healthy, but he’s crepuscular.” If Nezemab felt sorrow or contempt, he didn’t let it show.

Kertes turned back to Ranno, unleashing on the ainok the hatred for her own crimes. “Is it true, dog? Did you kill my sister and allowed my nephew to be born crepuscular, you unaligned mongrel?” Ranno’s body seemed to close around the crying baby.

Kertes closed and opened her fists on the desk, breathing deeply. Faultless as Ranno could be, her fury needed a scapegoat… and Kertes still didn’t know what to do of the baby. “What do you do with crepusculars, Ranno?” Ranno whimpered hearing the cold rage in Kertes’ voice. “Answer, bitch, or I’ll make you swallow your own tongue.”

“T-the Citadels, my lady, sun for dawns and moon for s-s-sunsets, my lady,” muttered Ranno, tears running down her snout.

“Moon for sunsets, you say,” Kertes said, making a show of pondering the words. “I should respect such wisdom, shouldn’t I? ‘Handed down from mother to daughter’, wasn’t it? Or the travel would prove too ‘long and uneventful’? _Answer_ , you twinsforsaken wretch of a woman!”

“I’ll go my lady I’ll go I’ll go please let me go my lady please my lady I beg of you…”

“It seems we’re agreed, then. Know that you’ll be watched every step of the way to Latmes, and if you do as much as step on my lands again you’ll regret ever leaving your mother’s womb. Now go.”

Kertes watched Ranno run breathlessly down the corridor. Thutmoset would be satisfied, at least… She leaned back on the chair and covered her face with both hands. “Nezemab, I need a drink,” she said, fighting back angry tears.

“At once, my lady,” came the swift reply.

 

* * *

[excerpt of IV weekly report by Adept Threshold, Springtide, 1204 AU]

Twinsday: Ranno Kanika brought a crepuscular newborn; she affirms he was born in the city of El-Barnak. Suspected noble birth. I take the liberty to suggest the name Dusk, as the last child with said name has been renamed as Sister Forge last Frostmoon.


	3. Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kertes looks for answers. Dusk's world is introduced.

Kertes was looking at her belly, wondering if she had ever done something right in her life, when Dhouti interrupted her trail of thoughts combing her hair with his fingers.

“Did I do something wrong, my delight?” He whispered in her ear. The only living members of the Meskhenet family were lying in their bed, naked and sweaty.

“No, handsome, you were great,” Kertes replied absently.

“You know, beautiful, I’d be more inclined to believe that if you didn’t look like a girl whose doll has fallen in the flooding Katel,” jested Dhouti raising to his knees.

Kertes backed until she could sit up leaning on the headboard. “I’m sorry, Dhouti, you were great as always,” she repeated looking him in the eyes and managing a weak smile, “I’m just worried, that’s all.”

“And here I hoped to have somewhat improved since our first time,” Dhouti chuckled. “Worried about our child, are you?”

Kertes made a face; Dhouti could have chosen a better wording, she thought, as the memory of the wail of the baby in Ranno’s arms pierced her head. “What if I’m barren, Dhouti?”

“You’re not,” her husband replied, massaging her belly with a hand, “my parents had to try for four years before I was born, my precious, and then they had three strong sons, as you can testify once in a while,” he added with a naughty smile. “We have been married for less than two years, it’s too early to worry about that.”

_Not if you ripped your firstborn from your womb with a demonic ritual._ “But what if I am, Dhouti? What we’re going to do?”

“What we’re going to go? We could adopt a couple of kids, for example,” Dhouti observed. “The current head of the Adio has been adopted, you know, and my great-grandfather wasn’t the natural son of his predecessor either.”

“I… we could, yeah, but…”

“…but that’s not what your mother did,” Dhouti finished for her. “I now, darling, but you don’t have to be your mother. She made your - our – house shine brighter than anyone before her, but you don’t have to follow her footsteps every time. You can be great in your own way, Kertes, I swear.”

_Where were you while I was becoming Mother’s failed copycat?_ “But what if we adopt and then I get pregnant?”

“Disowning children after adopting them is a bit on the cruel side,” Dhouti said. “What if we set a time limit? Something like… five years. If we have no child five years from now, we pick some kid and raise them as our heir regardless of how many little wonders my gorgeous wife and little old me are able to produce.”

_A bit on the cruel side? Wait until you hear what_ I _do to newborns._ “Five years… I’ll think about it, Dhouti.” _I must get a few answers first._

* * *

Kertes was determined not to summon Thutmoset for this – he had received enough sacrifices thanks to this disaster. But there were others who could satisfy her curiosity.

Kertes carefully laid the crocodile’s heart on the river loam her slaves had prepared in the altar’s basin, and took the copper knife; a pretty simple blade with a snakeskin grip, the only precious detail a pair of small emeralds. She plunged the knife through the heart and into the loam, and stepped back. She had been giving Bosek sacrifice before each flood since she had been seventeen, and Bosek needed a very good reason reason to compromise such a reliable source of crocodiles’ and poachers’ souls; the relationship between her and the demon was more professional then the ones she had with most of her allies.

Kertes heard the copper blade shatter and the loam surged upwards, around the heart and beneath the snakeskin’s grip, inflating it like a frog’s throat. The snakeskin grew larger and larger until its contours traced an oblong head and a pair of powerful arms; from those arms sprouted copper claws, that shredded the snakeskin to reveal the “flesh” beneath, bulging muscles made of loam. The claws revealed an eyeless crocodile’s head between two thick shoulders, and its maws opened slightly to reveal two rows of fearsome copper teeth… and a shadowy slithering shape with two emerald eyes lurking within.

“You summoned me, Kertes,” hissed softly Bosek.

“I did,” replied Kertes, “I need to give birth to an heir.”

Silence permeated the dark room for an uncomfortably long time. “What do you seek is beyond my reach,” the demon eventually said.

Kertes’ stomach filled with icy stones. “You are the demon of life and fertility,” she objected.

“And you offered me sacrifice for a decade and more, this is not forgotten,” Bosek – at least, the small figure hidden in the crocodile’s mouth – nodded respectfully. “But you do not fully comprehend the extent of the ritual you performed.”

Kertes mentally recited the list of precautions to take with Bosek. _I followed every instruction, he can’t lie._ “You speak like you do.”

“Not in every detail, but I can understand the part lodged in your body,” the shadowed eyes shimmering, “and in honor of our many pacts, and the power you granted me over the years, I shall give you the knowledge you desire without asking for sacrifice.” Then he fell silent.

“Your munificence humbles me, great Bosek,” Kertes nodded in response, when she understood what Bosek was actually asking from her. She didn’t feel particularly humbled, but a few courtesies and a crocodile’s heart were a small price to pay to have her answers. “I shall treasure your gift and honor your name.”

“As you should, young Kertes,” came the hissing reply. “The ritual Thutmoset taught you offered everything it touched to him: your womb, your child, and the woman that would bear the life of your unborn cub." Kertes winced at Astekhu's mention; her older sister had become a constant presence in her nightmares, an inevitable reminder of her tragic stupidity. "And your womb he claimed, leaving barren desolation behind. No new life will ever spring from you, Kertes, because what Thutmoset takes he never gives back. The rest you know."

The words hit Kertes like bricks.“No demon will undo another demon’s deeds,” she muttered absently.

“A wise principle, and even wiser when meddling in Thutmoset’s wake. Not even the greatest magic of mortals would be a fit instrument against his will. Seek your heir elsewhere, away from Thutmoset’s withering touch.”

Kertes hoped that the laughter she heard in the distance was a hallucination.

* * *

“What was that?” asked Dusk softly. Nubi looked at him from her seat at Dusk’s right, confused, broth dripping from her snout.

“What was what?” Bentres whispered back from his left, her mouth half full. “Twinsake, Dusk, you always talk like we all have your freaky ears.”

“Someone wailing, maybe,” Dusk replied, dipping bread in his bowl. He found it hard to believe no one else had his sense of hearing, but there could be no other explanation: even Archbishops talked to each other like no one could hear them when they were well within his hearing range. Eavesdropping was bad, they said, and Dusk wasn’t very fond of knowing things like which disappeared kids were actually sent away to learn some craft and which were sold as slaves, but it wasn’t like he decided to hear things.

“Crybaby coming back?” Bentres asked. She had a real name as the other orphan kids, a tall and wiry aligned human girl with short cerulean hair, icy blue eyes and a knack for finding everyone’s weak spots with both her tongue and her nails, a talent Dusk had experienced firsthand in more than one occasion.

“Sounds a bit like him, yes” Dusk admitted after a moment’s hesitation. It wouldn’t be the first time the kid was dragged back to the Citadel kicking and screaming after sneaking away to find his parents, and Dusk didn’t think it would be the last either.

“Don’t call Ker-Aib like that, Bentres, please,” begged Nubi, a little unaligned ainok of six with eyes shining like red gold. Dusk didn’t like Bentres’ cruel jests either, but he couldn’t deny that in Ker-Aib’s case the mock name fit like a glove; the older crepuscular boy – for some reason he had a real name, a fact that didn’t make Ker-Aib well-loved by the other crepusculars – cried more than little scrawny Nubi that was half his age.

“Why not, Nubby?” Bentres sneered. “Do you _like_ him, kid?”

“He’s cute, and nice,” Nub replied meekly.

“I should warn him, then, he might die soon,” Bentres mused as she wiped her empty bowl with bread.

“Bentres,” warned Dusk. Nubi’s eyes were wide with fright, confused but too afraid to ask.

“Why, Dusk, she liked her parents too and wham,” Bentres chuckled, mimicking with her hands two persons suddenly falling, “dead as doornails both of them.”

“Bentres!” Dusk hissed, elbowing her in the ribs as Nubi whined softly; Bentres elbowed him back twice as hard, but remained silent. After two seasons of fighting they had come to an unspoken agreement; Dusk let Bentres have her fun, but she had to stop when younger children were about to cry. It wasn’t an ideal arrangement for neither of them, but both Dusk and Bentres had enough of being kept without food – the standard punishment for the Citadel kids – and being covered in scratches and bruises respectively. Dusk wondered if he should tell Bentres not to pester Nubi during meals – the pup ate little even on her best days.

As Dusk feared, Nubi left the remaining broth untouched, looking at her hands with eyes full of tears; if he remembered Nubi’s story right, her mother had died right before her eyes. Not that crepusculars like him could understand what was like to lose a parent – they had all been left at the Citadel at birth, except maybe Ker-Aib – but Dusk guessed it was like when big peaceful Sister Quill had died, maybe a bit worse. “Nubi, please, there are just two spoonfuls left,” he said scratching the ainok under an ear as she liked, “if you don’t finish it Brother Watch will be angry.” The pup had no reaction; Dusk made sure the anointed brothers and sisters up near the honor table were engrossed in their talk of Meskhenet demonspawn and Mandisa discord-sowers, then switched Dusk’s and Nubi’s bowls. Dusk glared at Bentres when she tried to do the same; the girl rolled her eyes, but kept her hands to herself.

_Hurt her_ , whispered the voice inside his head, encouraging violence as usual, but Dusk ignored it and downed Nubi’s broth. Another thing he wasn’t eager to explain to the priests. _Punch her face. She deserves pain. Break her nose._

Bentres had just opened her mouth, no doubt to pass a snide remark in Dusk’s direction, when three hooded Faith’s Blades entered the hall, clad in their rough grey woolen cloaks, and the soft whispers in the room fell in an awkward silence. Dusk had forgot that today was the day of Kere’s Pick: a month before the Second Namegiving of the children that had reached twelve years of age, the Blades would choose the boys and girls fit to be tested to join their ranks in their unseen training grounds carved under the mountain, if Dawn – the brightest pupil of Brother Papyrus the apothecary - was to be believed.

Nobody was surprised when Rehu was chosen, a big, serious and sinewy boy that seemed four years older than he actually was; Dusk knew that Hasina had hoped to work as a whitesmith, but the aven didn’t seem very cross when one of the somber grey-clad figures stopped right behind her.

“What? Dawn, a Blade?” Bentres muttered nonplussed when the last Blade loomed behind the crepuscular girl. Dusk was just as surprised: Dawn was lithe and quick and smart but lacked the large frame most Blades sported; she had a gift for herbal alchemy, and her hands were more suited to wield a sickle than a sword. She had snow-white skin and raven-black hair, and her eyes were green as summer grass, a color only crepuscular could have: she couldn’t be a bodyguard, every priest that needed one had to encounter nobles regularly, and forcing highborn eyes to look at a crepuscular’s face was very bad form. Dawn herself didn’t seem surprised, though, and the corner of her lips were slightly turned upwards as she followed the Blades out of the dining hall and, supposedly, in the bowels of the earth.

_You will follow them in due time, my child_ , the voice promised. A shiver went down Dusk’s spine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Lucky as Dhouti is, Empress (the sisters' doll mentioned in Legacy) was probably lost in the flooding Katel.  
> -The expression "green as summer grass" is a reference to George R. R. Martin.

**Author's Note:**

> -Yes, Kertes is the deliberate anagram of Serket.  
> -Thutmoset's design has a reference to the Corinthian, a nightmare in Neil Gaiman's The Sandman.


End file.
